Sanctuary
by taikuus
Summary: Grievously wounded and mentally unstable following his ordeal with Deepground, Vincent has no choice but to accept the aid of his companions. During his recovery, Cloud and company learn increasingly disturbing details about his past, and Vincent must come to terms with what took place in the basement of Shinra Manor all those years ago.
1. I: Found

**A/N -** This story takes place immediately after Dirge of Cerberus. It's slightly AU as I've tweaked some things to fit into the plot better. Nothing major, and nothing that clearly violates any facts. The events in this story could have happened and fit nicely into the canonical storyline. I was a bit disappointed with how Dirge ended, so I decided to indulge my headcanon.

Just a few notes:

\- This is a WIP. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors or delays between chapters.

\- No Shelke. I didn't really like her as a character and felt she'd be rather useless in this story.

\- Canonical events may not occur exactly as they did in FFVII or in the same order (you'll see what I mean later).

\- There's quite a bit of descriptive detail throughout involving blood, violence, torture, psychological trauma, and the like. May or may not include references to non-con. I haven't decided that yet.

\- No pairings, although it may be read as Vin/Tifa or possibly Vin/Cloud.

 **Disclaimer** \- To put it simply, Square Enix owns the playground. I just love playing in it.

Also, shout-out to **Switchback** for inspiring me to finally begin writing this.

* * *

 _ **I: Found**_

Cloud lowered his arms, slowly regaining his vision. The night seemed even darker and deeper following the explosion, bright spots dancing across his sight as he desperately searched the sky for any sign of Vincent. His companions gasped in the immediate silence, broken only by the howling of the wind, bringing with it the faint odor of smoke and burning metal. An unpleasant tension descended over the party with the collective realization that Vincent may not had have survived his encounter with Omega. The minutes lengthened, a seed of dread beginning to sprout in Cloud's heart. Yuffie shifted some twenty yards in front of him.

"Vincent?"

The thinly disguised fear in her voice betrayed how they all felt. Cloud did not trust himself to speak; nor, it seemed, did anyone else. They waited with bated breath, until slowly, a green light illuminated the sky where Omega had last been seen, growing steadily brighter until Cloud had to force himself not to look away. And there, among the weapon's scattered remains floating like emerald snow was a much smaller crimson light plummeting toward the Planet like a falling star.

Cloud's legs were moving as if of their own design, stumbling over the terrain with his face still upturned. He heard Tifa shout something behind him but he did not hesitate, running as best he could through the destruction until he was near the spot where he believed Vincent had fallen.

He searched for what seemed like ages, terrified of what he might find yet even more afraid that his friend was dying somewhere nearby and he, half-blind in the darkness, would be too late. He felt surreal, his body numb to the cold, searching the area with growing desperation until he sank down onto a broken airship part, distraught and completely overwhelmed.

Vincent couldn't be dead. Cloud had always had the sense that the gunman was much stronger, more resilient than all of them. He had always been a reassuring presence, even back when they were chasing Sephiroth, despite his quiet and unaffected demeanor. To think that he had been killed, that he had disappeared forever…

Cloud rubbed a hand over his face, willing his mind to focus on the task before him. He would find Vincent even if it was only to bring his body back so the people who knew him could pay their respects. It was the least he could do. He would not leave empty-handed, if there was anything to find.

He was about to resume his search when, upon disturbing the bullet-riddled airship wing, he saw a glint above his shoulder from the corner of his eye. Looking closer, he inspected a twisted mass of wire and metal. There, dangling from the end, was Vincent's Cerberus pendant.

Cloud reached out to take it with a trembling hand. His mouth was suddenly very dry and there was a horrible sick feeling in his stomach. If Vincent's gun had been destroyed, Cloud knew there was very little chance of finding his body intact, and even less of finding him alive.

Pocketing the charm, he forced himself to stand up and take several deep breaths, scanning the immediate vicinity for anything else that would give him a clue. He was shaking badly as he stumbled forward, eyes on the ground, panic rolling over him in nauseating waves.

Down a slight gradient he went, kicking wreckage out of his way, until he came to a large piece of defunct machinery. Climbing on top of it, he surveyed the destruction around him with only the starlight to aid him. His exhausted gaze came to rest on a gold-tinted gleam that was somewhat isolated from the majority of the rubble. As his eyes adjusted, he could barely make out the shape of an arm and hand ending in a set of long, pointed talons.

Cloud's insides felt as if they had turned to ice. Even from this distance, there was no question the gauntlet belonged to Vincent. He climbed down from the machine, the reality of the situation weighing on him heavily. He drew closer with quickened steps, and a shallow depression gradually came into view. In the center was Vincent's body, completely still and broken looking, face down in the dirt.

Cloud sprinted the rest of the distance, steeling himself for the worst.

 _Gaia…please…_

He dropped to his knees in the dust next to his companion, breathing raggedly. Terror clenched at his heart like an iron fist as he grasped his friend's shoulder and turned him over onto his back.

Vincent did not open his eyes or respond in any way. He was more pallid than Cloud had ever seen him. Dark blood stained the front of his shirt and mantle as well as the dirt where he'd lain. Despite his distress, Cloud was amazed he had found him in one piece.

"Vincent," he choked, pulling the man into his arms.

Vincent did not respond. He tried again, more desperately.

"Vincent?"

Cloud couldn't keep his composure any longer. Breaking down, he wept into the gunman's tangled hair, rocking him back and forth. Then, collecting himself enough to regain his wits, he pressed his ear to Vincent's blood soaked chest, and to his astonishment, heard the faintest of heartbeats there.

Cloud buried his face in Vincent's hair again, this time in relief. He did not know how much time he had, but he could not believe that his companion had survived the fall.

Acting quickly, he dug in his pocket for a Cure Materia. It would do little to help – Vincent's injuries were far too grievous – but he held it to his chest all the same. For Cloud had nothing else to slow the bleeding and he knew the gunman's life hung precariously in the balance.

He cast around in hopes that something nearby could be used as a bandage, but the wreckage that surrounded them was composed of little more than wiring and metal scraps. What he didn't expect to find was Cerberus close to Vincent's side, half buried in the dirt. Cloud carefully unearthed it, marveling how it, too, had remained intact. He must not have dropped it until he hit the ground.

It was then that Cloud heard the _Shera_ approaching overhead. Gathering Vincent in his arms, he lifted him as gently as possible. He was very light, lighter than Cloud expected him to be.

The airship landed not far from them where there was less debris. The door flung open as Cloud neared with his precious burden, and Cid came down to help him.

"Reeve says there're no medics onboard. The WRO sustained heavy losses but he's called for as many as they can spare. Until then, we'll have to make do with – " Cid broke off upon seeing Vincent's condition in the dim light from the bridge. "Aw, shit! Damn Shinra! Damn those bastards to hell! Follow me to my cabin – we ain't got time to lose!"

~*O*~

Cid led him down the narrow passageway to the captain's cabin. Fortunately, it was quite close by, double the size of the guest and crew cabins, which provided plenty of space and an ensuite bathroom. Cloud guessed the decision to treat Vincent here had been previously arranged. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw Tifa piling every healing item in their possession on the table in the corner. She took one look at Vincent and covered her mouth with her hands, tears welling rapidly in her eyes, shining brightly in the lamplight.

"My gods…Vincent…"

Cid turned the bedding down and Cloud lowered his companion as gently as he could onto the mattress. In the soft glow of the room, he could see that Vincent's condition was even more critical than what he had been able to discern in the dark. The gunman's complexion had acquired a grey tint and was as white as the sheet on which he lay. His lips had paled as well, blue-tinged around the edges. His chest, which was thoroughly saturated with his own blood, rose and fell rapidly with shallow breaths.

The pilot muttered something about a first aid kit and dashed out of the room. Without wasting any more time, Cloud reached forward and began undoing the clasps on Vincent's cape.

"Tif – help me undress him. Quick."

He tried to keep his voice calm, but his hands were trembling and slipped on the buckles as he worked them, the leather sticky and wet. Recovering from her initial shock, Tifa pushed the crimson fabric out of the way as it was loosened, opening the buttons of the shirt he wore underneath.

Tifa gasped aloud and Cloud had to swallow his nausea when Vincent's torso was finally exposed. The gunman's entire front, from his collarbone to his stomach, was caked with blood. It took Cloud a moment to find the source of the hemorrhage; a gaping hole, too large to be a stab wound, in the center of his chest. The perimeter was crusted over with partially-dried blood, more of the dark fluid oozing steadily from the site of the injury. Tifa immediately handed him a thick, sterile cloth from their limited stack of supplies, and he pressed it firmly to the wound, applying as much pressure as he dared. He could feel broken bones beneath his hands.

He looked quickly at Tifa. "See if he has any other injuries."

Tifa carefully removed Vincent's bandana and examined his head for any damage. "He's so cold…" her voice was slightly more high-pitched than usual and wavered as she spoke, feeling along the side of the gunman's neck. "And his pulse is weak and thready…do you think he – "

She abruptly fell silent and slid the glove off of Vincent's right hand, then gently pushed the shirt fabric over his shoulder, guiding his arm out of the material. Cloud knew what she had been about to say. They were both thinking the same thing, but neither was willing to entertain the thought.

"Cloud – "

Her tone made him look up. She had removed the golden gauntlet and was staring at Vincent's other arm, eyes wide with shock. Cloud followed her line of vision and felt a chill run up his spine.

The muscles were weak and wasted beneath a web of silvery scars, the long fingers resting at an awkward angle, only half-extended due to a visibly decreased range of motion, as if crippled by some terrible injury. Despite the troubled sensation curling in the pit of his stomach, Cloud allowed his eyes to linger, simultaneously curious and horrified, unable to look away.

When he finally forced himself to avert his gaze, he nodded toward the gauntlet Tifa still held in her hands.

"Leave that on."

Tifa remained silent as she carefully slid the mutilated arm back into its metal-plated glove. Cloud couldn't shake his feeling of unease, but it wasn't for their sake he chose to keep the limb covered. He had never seen Vincent without his gauntlet; now he knew why. He didn't fault the gunman at all for wanting that part of him to remain hidden, and he would have bet all of his gil that Vincent had never wanted any of them to see it.

~*O*~

Cid returned with the first aid kit shortly thereafter, but it contained little that would help Vincent's plight.

"Three medics are on their way. Reeve sent Yuffie and Barret to escort 'em."

Cloud didn't move from his position, still trying to stem the flow from Vincent's chest. His hands were growing damp from the red stains that were blossoming on the cloth beneath them.

"Did he say how long it would take them? Vincent needs advanced care. Urgently."

"No, but they're aware that the situation is dire." Cid looked at Tifa. "What d'ya have in the way of healing items?"

"Five Hi-Potions, a couple of Ethers, and a Remedy," Tifa recited the short list, looking over their wounded companion sadly. "I'm afraid he's going to need a lot more than that…"

"No Cure Materia?"

"I used the last of it right after I found him," Cloud replied.

"Damn! Think we oughta try givin' him a Hi-Potion?"

"I don't know if we should risk that…" Tifa said anxiously. "And I don't even know if it would help. He's been unconscious this whole time, how would we get him to take it? We could try to manipulate his reflexes to make him drink it but his injury is so severe. I don't think we should move him…"

It was then that Cloud noticed Vincent's chest had stopped moving.

"He's not breathing," he said, feeling as if a stone had dropped into his stomach. "He's not breathing. Tifa – "

Cid acted quickly. Reaching into the first aid kit, he procured a clear silicone device shaped like a shallow cup.

"Here," he said, handing it to Tifa. "Fit this over his mouth and breathe into that little spout there at the top."

Tifa did as she was instructed without delay. Pinching Vincent's nose, she exhaled into the valve.

"Come on, Vince, breathe," Cid urged when his chest did not rise, giving his shoulder a shake. "You can do it. Stay with us, Vince."

Tifa continued administering rescue breaths – once, twice, three times – and suddenly Cloud felt Vincent's chest expand. Tifa took the mask away and put her ear to the gunman's lips, listening.

With a great, shuddering gasp, Vincent inhaled under his own power. He stirred and then, for the first time since Cloud had found him, opened his eyes.

Tifa smiled down at him, palming his cheek. Cloud could see that she was crying.

"Gods, Vincent, don't scare us like that…" she whispered.

Vincent gazed up at her. He seemed extremely confused and disoriented, his sanguine eyes blinking slowly as they roamed her face. He made a quiet noise like he wanted to say something and then groaned, a deep rumble in his chest that Cloud felt in his hands. A spasm of pain flitted across his usually impassive features. For a moment it appeared his tenuous grasp on awareness was failing him as he struggled to focus his vision with what looked like an enormous effort. Then he lifted his bare hand, uncertain, and threaded his fingers through Tifa's hair.

"Lu…crecia…?" he managed, his voice barely audible. Then his arm fell to his side and his eyes fluttered closed as consciousness left him again.

* * *

 **A/N** \- If you like this so far, please comment. I'm not the type to beg for reviews, but I have a very difficult time being motivated to continue stories once I've started them. Knowing people are interested is an enormous help.

Thanks for reading!


	2. II: Memory

**A/N** \- Oh my GOD guys I'm so excited to finally update this story for all of you. This chapter has been in the works for several months now and I've just gotten around to finishing it. I sincerely appreciate all who reviewed the first chapter and who are still interested in reading. I know it's been a long time - unacceptably long, I admit - and I'm really hoping it won't take this long between chapters in the future. To give you an idea, for the last 6+ months I was a full time student and working two jobs. No times to even think about this story, plus some rather serious personal shit which nearly incapacitated me for over a year. But that's all over and done with, right? No need to speak about it anymore.

I read through this chapter and fixed any types but honestly, it's almost five in the morning here and I've been up all night writing, so as always please forgive any spelling or formatting errors.

* * *

 _ **II: Memory**_

"Lucrecia?" Cid repeated. "Who in the hell is Lucrecia?"

Cloud didn't answer; the name was familiar, but he was too focused on the rhythmic movement of Vincent's chest to give it much thought. His own heart was still racing, his pulse pounding painfully in his throat. Vincent's life truly hung by a thread; he didn't want to imagine what would have happened had Cid not returned as soon as he did.

Tifa echoed his sentiments as she straightened up and wiped at her eyes with the side of her wrist. Vincent's gesture, however confused and incoherent, had coaxed a rose-colored tint to her cheeks.

"It's a good thing you remembered that first aid kit after all, Cid…"

"Nah, you could have always given him mouth to mouth," Cid said with a wink. "I doubt Vince would've minded."

Tifa smiled weakly at the pilot's attempt to lighten the mood. Then her expression turned thoughtful as she handed Cloud another cloth for Vincent's chest, which he placed on top of the first.

"Lucrecia…I've heard that name somewhere before…" she pondered. "I just can't put my finger on it. I wonder who she is."

"Eh, probably his girlfriend or somethin'," Cid speculated. "I dunno – does Vince even have a girlfriend?"

His companions shrugged. It wasn't like Vincent to share such personal details about himself. He was an extremely private person.

Cid continued, "You must look like her, Tif, whoever she is. Vince obviously thought so."

Tifa blushed again, but her expression was sad when she looked down at the gunman.

"No…I don't think he knew where he was…"

~*O*~

There was a sharp knock at the door. Without waiting for a response, three WRO combat medics let themselves in, laden heavily with supplies. Tifa and Cid stepped back, allowing them to pass. Two of the medics began a preliminary assessment, while the third, a middle-aged man with a greying beard who appeared to be in charge, turned and grimly addressed Cloud.

"My name is Sergei, senior medical officer in the field," he said with a curt nod. "How long since you found him?"

"An hour, at least."

"Was he conscious at all?"

"No…he only woke up briefly after Tifa resuscitated him," Cloud was forced to move back when the medics peeled the bloodied cloths away, revealing the wound. "He stopped breathing not long ago, but we were able to bring him around…"

He fell silent, watching one of the medics cover the lower half of Vincent's face with an oxygen mask while the other prepared an IV. Sergei turned to him again.

"We will do everything we can. But I suggest you give us room to work."

"I'm not leaving him," Cloud said firmly.

"Very well," Sergei replied in clipped tones. Then he pulled on a pair of latex gloves without another word and began a thorough examination of Vincent's chest.

Cloud retreated to the corner of the room where Tifa was seated at the small table.

"Where's Cid?" he asked, lowering himself into the chair across from her.

"He went to help with the airship repairs. Apparently it took some damage during the drop. Said it's too crowded in here and he wanted to make himself useful elsewhere."

Cloud nodded slowly, understandably. He regarded her for a moment before voicing his thoughts. "You look tired."

"I'll be fine," she said, letting her eyes wander across the room to where their companion lay. "I doubt I'd be able to sleep, anyway…"

They seldom spoke after that, too taxed by the events that had occurred over the last several hours to waste energy on small talk. Cloud felt helpless as he watched the medics cleaning the blood from around the gunman's wound, realizing he could do nothing more to aid his predicament. Vincent's life was now out of his hands. He caught snatches of the medics' quiet conversation while they worked, clinical phrases like _comminuted sternal fracture_ and _stage four hypovolemia_.

After several long, agonizing minutes, Sergei removed his gloves and approached them.

"Could I have a word with you outside?"

Cloud didn't like the sound of that at all, but he forced himself to stand up and follow him out of the room, Tifa close behind. When the medic spoke, his tone was low and serious in a way that made Cloud's stomach clench.

"I hate to inform you of this," he began gravely, "but there is very little chance that Mr. Valentine will survive. He has lost a massive amount of blood from the injury to his chest. Most individuals at this stage of hypovolemic shock eventually succumb to multiple organ failure due to lack of oxygen."

He paused here, allowing this information to sink in. It was quiet in the corridor as Cloud tried to comprehend what they were being told, but his mind felt jammed. After a moment, the medic continued.

"His sternum is also fractured and most of the surrounding ribs are broken in several places. The damage to his thoracic cavity is severe. His condition is too critical to risk surgically repairing the bones. We would be doing more harm to him at this point. It appears he suffered an extreme blunt force trauma or explosion at close range. The chance of survival is slim. I am sorry."

"You're wrong," Tifa suddenly blurted. Her voice was thick and strained and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she took a step forward. "Vincent's a lot stronger than most people. He can pull through, you'll see."

Sergei held up his hand, but his expression had softened at Tifa's words. "We will continue to do what we can. But I must inform you that recovery is unlikely. The outcome for a patient in his condition is very bleak. First and foremost, it is imperative that the wound be sutured closed to stop the bleeding. We will keep administering oxygen and fluids as well. The rest is up to him. If his body can produce an adequate supply of new blood cells on its own to support the function of his organs, it is possible he may live."

~*O*~

The pain in his head was nearly intolerable, a heavy throbbing ache that made him long to return to the oblivion of sleep. He tried to remember where he was, but his thoughts were slow and muddled. Forcing his eyes open, he struggled to make sense of his surroundings, but his vision was bleary and all he could discern was a dark and unfamiliar ceiling above him. He meant to shift, to sit up, but the pain in his head radiated throughout his body at the movement and his limbs were like lead.

It was then he realized the ceiling was moving and he became aware of the cold, rough ground beneath him.

He was being dragged.

Panic blossomed in his chest and he tried to fight, yet his body refused to obey. He opened his mouth, intending to protest, but no words escaped. Only an incoherent moan. The fist in his hair tightened its grip, jerking painfully at his scalp, and he was dragged more violently.

He recognized the rotting wood of a doorframe as he was dragged over a threshold. Then he was flung into the center of a small chamber, where he came to rest on the cold stone floor. He lay still, listening to the movement around him, and he noticed dark shapes nearby in the gloom, long flat boxes. His confusion increased tenfold as he struggled to recognize where he was. This was not the lab.

And then his eyes adjusted, and he realized what the boxes were.

Coffins.

His panic turned to terror and he fought desperately to get up, to flee, but all he could manage was to flail weakly like an infant. Whatever drug had been administered had left him completely incapacitated.

"Ugh…no…"

He was silenced by a swift kick to the ribs, winding him. There was a heavy, dull scraping sound moving closer, and he knew. He drew in a ragged breath.

"No…let me go…"

"Let you go?" A mocking voice, too familiar. And then a high-pitched cackle, which grew louder and madder, until the entire chamber echoed with it.

"Let you go?" the voice repeated. "You are no longer needed. You are no longer useful. You are unworthy of existence. A failed experiment. Everyone would be disgusted by you. Hideous creature."

Sharp pain in his ribs again. Then he felt himself being lifted – clumsily, carelessly – and laid in an open coffin. He struggled and pleaded with the blurry face of the scientist that loomed above him.

Then the lid was slammed shut, and there was only darkness.

~*O*~

Vincent struck out blindly with his golden claw, an agonized, long-suffering roar tearing from his throat. The medic who had been stitching the wound fell backward, clutching his face, caught off guard and terrified.

Sergei burst into the cabin, pursued immediately by Cloud and Tifa. Cloud could see three wicked crimson gashes on the medic's cheek when he took his hand away, but the ex-mercenary quickly turned his attention to his friend thrashing fitfully on the bed. Vincent had ripped the IV from his arm and was now grappling with the oxygen mask, a cacophony of tortured screams issuing forth, it seemed, from the deepest recess of his soul. The third medic, who had at first tried in vain to stay his patient's flailing limbs, moved cautiously away, wary of the sharp talons.

Cloud felt as if his boots were cemented to the floor, unnerved by the scene unfolding before him. Never had he witnessed such an extreme expression of raw emotion and pain from the usually stoic gunman. Vincent thrashed madly as if against an invisible force, his eyes glazed and unfocused, staring at something only he could see far beyond the four walls of the cabin. Cloud was suddenly overcome with an intense fear that the gunman was about to transform, too weak to control his demons in this state. Trying to explain Vincent's shapeshifting abilities to the medics would be the least of their concerns.

Sergei was conferring urgently with his assistants while he put on a fresh pair of gloves. Despite the situation, the doctor maintained a veneer of calm as he unscrewed the cap from a small glass bottle and drew the amber contents into a syringe.

"What is that?" Cloud interjected abruptly, finally finding his voice.

"Haloperidol," Sergei replied evenly without looking up. "Mr. Valentine must be sedated at once or else he risks further injury to himself." He glanced over his shoulder at his assistants. "Restrain him."

The medics looked as if they would rather do just about anything else, but they approached the gunman all the same and, after dodging Vincent's claw a few times, managed to pin his arms to the bed. Even with his wound, Vincent fought them viciously, neck straining as he struggled to free himself from their grasp, his cries becoming hysterical.

Sergei lowered the syringe to Vincent's arm and it was then, when the needle pierced the taut muscle, that a single word among the tortured screams became intelligible to Cloud's ears.

 _Hojo._

Cloud instantly felt cold sweat forming on the back of his neck and his nausea returned, but this time with the additional feeling of horror at the implications of his friend uttering the name of the scientist under his present circumstances. He glanced at Tifa to gauge her reaction only to find she had retreated to the far side of the cabin with her hands pressed over her ears, tears streaming freely over her cheekbones in rivulets.

The effect of the drug was immediate. Within moments, Vincent became still and silent. The medics released their hold on his arms, which fell limply to the bedsheets, and secured the oxygen mask again while Sergei prepared a new IV. Then they quickly finished suturing the wound; amazingly, Vincent's agitated movements had not disturbed any of the stitches. When this task was completed, the medics lifted Vincent's shoulders enough for Sergei to wrap a thick bandage tightly around the gunman's ribcage. Cloud could only watch, trying to swallow the knot in his throat.

"Oh, please don't –" Tifa began when Sergei removed Vincent's gauntlet.

"We cannot risk Mr. Valentine doing any harm to himself. Or to others, for that matter," Sergei interrupted with a pointed glance in her direction. "We do not know if his state of mind will be improved when he wakes."

"How long?" Cloud asked, finding his voice.

The medic's gaze lingered for a second on Vincent's mutilated arm but he did not comment.

"He won't wake for several hours," he replied without looking up. "Haloperidol is a powerful sedative. He'll be out until tomorrow morning, at least."

There was no more discussion as the medics began packing their supplies. Before they left, however, Sergei turned to Cloud and Tifa.

"I must see to the troops. I have done all I can for Mr. Valentine for the time being. Now, we must wait. I will return tomorrow to monitor his progress." He handed Cloud a glass bottle, the contents rattling as he turned it over to read the label. "Painkillers if he needs them before I get here. If something happens, Reeve will know where to find me. I bid you a good evening."

~*O*~

Tifa sank into one of the chairs by the table, stifling a yawn as she pulled one of the spare blankets from Cid's closet tighter around her shoulders.

"I can stay awake a bit longer if you want to sleep for a few hours," she said softly.

Cloud looked up from the heavy three-barrel revolver resting on the tabletop. Despite his exhaustion pulling at his eyelids, he felt restless and jittery.

"Nah, don't think I can…" he glanced over to the bed where Vincent's chest was rising and falling visibly underneath the bedcovers with deep, steady breaths. "I don't mind staying up."

"Hmph. Well, we'll both stay up then," she replied in a mock stubborn tone in an effort to lighten the mood, but the weariness in her voice dulled the effect of her humor. She simply sounded resigned to the fact.

Cloud made a noncommittal noise as he picked up Vincent's gun, weighing it in his hands. He'd forgotten that he'd still been carrying it in his belt until Tifa pointed it out. The barrels were dusty and splattered with dried mud but otherwise undamaged. He had never seen Vincent's weapon up close before. Now as he gazed up on it, dirty as it was, he could see it was a true work of art.

"May I see it?" Tifa asked, holding out her palm. Cloud passed it across the table to her, and her eyebrows jumped slightly at its weight. "It's a lot heavier than I thought it would be. You'd never guess from the way he fights. It's beautiful, though…"

Cloud hummed in agreement as she passed it back to him. He fumbled with the lock for a moment, unused to the mechanics of the firearm, before the cylinder broke open and a dozen rounds spilled onto the tabletop. The chambers empty, he locked the cylinder back into place and began to polish the gleaming metal with a damp cloth, if nothing else but for want of something to do.

"I'm so worried for him," Tifa said as she watched Vincent sadly, chin resting on her hand. "I never would have imagined it was possible for someone to injure him so badly. He never seemed to get hurt much at all back when we were saving the Planet. He was the one always healing us. I guess now we're returning the favor for all those times he saved our butts in battle…" she trailed off. Then she added in a whisper, "I wonder what happened to his arm."

Cloud pressed his lips together, scrubbing at the bit of mud caked around the iron sights.

"I don't think we should –" he broke off and cleared his throat. Tifa was watching him curiously.

With a deep sigh, Cloud set down the gun and the cloth and leaned back in his chair, carefully considering his words.

"Look…Tif…it's really none of our business," he said at length. "But I think it's a clue that whatever his dealings were with Shinra in the past, we probably don't want to know. Especially after what he said when the medics were here – "

"What did he say?" Tifa interrupted, her brow creased in a troubled frown.

Cloud shook his head and said no more, picking up the cloth again. He half expected Tifa to press him, but she didn't. When he had cleaned the revolver to his satisfaction, he attached the Cerberus pendant and, pocketing the bullets, went to lay the weapon on the nightstand next to Vincent's gauntlet. Then he returned to the table in corner of the room, where they continued their vigil in silence.

* * *

 **A/N –** Did anyone else play Dirge and think "DAMN that's sexy" when Vincent reloads his guns? (Cause I did!) I especially love how he reloads the Hydra. I used to make him stand there and waste a bunch of bullets just so I could watch him reload. Yeah. I know.

Thank you all again so much for reading. Please feel free to leave a review. I read every one and they are all very much appreciated.

Until next time!


	3. III: Night

**A/N -** Hey guys, I was hoping to have this uploaded sooner but other things have been distracting me from writing, I'm afraid. Although I hope at least the duration between chapters this time wasn't nearly as bad. It's probably still not as soon as it should be. Sorry for making everyone wait!

Thanks again to everyone who read and wrote thoughtful reviews for the last chapter. They really do motivate me and I'm so happy that there are people who really enjoy this story. I try very hard to make it an enjoyable read, so it's very rewarding to get so much positive feedback and to see how many people have been interested after only two chapters.

As always, please forgive any spelling or grammar errors here. I edited twice but I still may have missed some. Also, I confess I'm not very good at chapter titles...

To be honest, this chapter was not supposed to exist in my original plan. The important details were meant to only be mentioned in a few paragraphs in a scene that will be in the next chapter, but I really felt that I needed to elaborate and...well...in a way it ended up just writing itself into a full chapter.

* * *

 _ **III: Night**_

Tifa startled as her phone buzzed suddenly in her pocket. Reaching for it, she squinted at the brightness of the screen and crept past Cloud, quietly letting herself out of the cabin.

"Barret?" she whispered. "It's almost two in the morning. Is everything alright? Did you get home okay?"

"Everythin's fine, Tif," Barret said, his voice sounding much louder to Tifa than usual in the silent airship corridor. "Got here a couple hours ago. Jus' wanted to let ya know Denzel and Marlene are okay. I knew you been worried about 'em bein' alone for so long."

"Good," Tifa breathed, a smile tugging at her lips. "Thanks for looking after them, Barret."

"No problem, girl, any time." He hesitated then, and his tone turned serious. "How's Vince?"

Tifa leaned wearily against the metal-plated wall of the _Shera_.

"Oh, Barret, he's wounded terribly," she whispered, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. "He lost so much blood, the doctors said he might not –" she broke off, trying to swallow around the sudden lump in her throat.

"Vince is an incredibly strong man, Tif," Barret said firmly. "He's gonna make it. He's just gotta. Don't go thinkin' the worst, ya hear? That ain't gonna help no one."

Tifa nodded despite Barret's inability to see her.

"You take care of him, alright? And Cloud, too. Ya know us men, we ain't no good on our own."

Tifa smiled at his words, blinking back tears.

"I will. Thanks, Barret. Sleep well."

"G'night, girl. See ya soon."

Tifa remained in the empty passageway for a while after the conversation ended, turning her phone over and over in her hands. She had no way of knowing how long it would be before she could return to the bar. She was slightly surprised by her own indifference at the thought. It seemed comparatively insignificant in the present situation.

She slipped back into the cabin, careful to close the latch as quietly as possible. Vincent was still breathing steadily which, though small, was something Tifa considered an encouraging sign. Cloud had fallen asleep some time ago, one arm flung across the table, his head resting in the crook of his elbow. Tifa picked up the rough army blanket from the back of her chair and draped it gently over his shoulders, tucking the edges around his sleeping form.

She paced the cabin for a few minutes with her hands resting on her hips, suddenly filled with a nervous energy, her prior drowsiness having all but vanished. It was on her third pass of the door, however, when she noticed a dark bundle on the floor near the wall, half-hidden beneath the bed. She stooped and immediately recognized the crimson material of Vincent's cloak. It was still damp and sticky with blood, the fabric stiff in places where the viscous fluid had dried. Kneeling, she reached further under the bed, feeling along the floorboards until her fingers closed around his shirt and headband.

She gathered these in her arms and went across the cabin to the bathroom, where she dropped them in the tub. Closing the door behind her so as not to disturb Cloud but leaving it slightly ajar in the event that Vincent needed help, she ran the tap, and the water turned a brilliant shade of red almost immediately upon contact with the blood-soaked material. She went to the medicine cabinet and after rummaging for a few seconds, found a new bar of soap. Then she knelt on the floor in front of the tub and began washing Vincent's clothes by hand.

It was very slow work. While she had anticipated that it would take some time and more than a little elbow grease before the garments were clean, it wasn't until she had thoroughly scrubbed and rinsed them twice that she realized just exactly how much the gunman had bled. The water in the tub had become opaque, so she sat back on her heels with the soap in her hands and waited for it to drain. Then she repeated the process over and over again, the water running a bit clearer each time.

Her thoughts wandered back to her conversation with Cloud earlier that evening, trying to remember if Vincent had said anything within comprehension during his terrified struggle with the medics. She knew that Cloud was right, that it was rude to speculate about Vincent's past and the peculiarities about him which they had all become more or less used to, but she was so intensely curious about the gunman who had largely remained a mystery throughout their three years of acquaintance. She had always accepted that he, like all of them, had probably had some unfortunate encounter with Shinra's ugly side. But the specifics were elusive, details at which she could only guess. In any case, it was the only real explanation she could come up with for some of his more…unusual characteristics.

 _And the fact that we found him in a coffin in the basement of the Shinra Mansion_ , Tifa mused darkly, suppressing a shudder.

Neither she nor any of her companions had ever broached the subject with Vincent – to her knowledge, at least – and the gunman had never offered to enlighten them about how he had come to be there in the first place, other than that it was punishment for a sin. (What "sin" that had been, Tifa still hadn't the faintest idea.) She supposed he had done something significantly against Shinra's wishes during his Turk days, for that was all she knew about the life he had led before they'd met him. Still, she had thought when they left Nibelheim later that day, locking someone in a coffin as punishment was totally barbaric, even by Shinra standards.

She squeezed the water from the shirt, and it was then that she noticed the tear slightly to the right of the buttons, a hole larger than her fist. She examined it with interest for a few minutes, gently pulling the material this way and that. The fabric around the hole was not charred in any way but simply ripped, eliminating the possibility that Vincent had suffered his wound from an explosion, as Sergei had earlier suggested. In retrospect, Tifa realized, an explosion could not have been the cause; Vincent's body was absent of burns.

She draped the shirt over the towel rack to dry with her brow furrowed, feeling ever more puzzled as she continued to poke at the tattered edges. Her frown deepening, she turned to the cloak, which was decidedly heavier and more difficult to wring free of water. Here, too, was a hole in the material, identical to the other. She flung the garment over the shower door, making a mental note to ask around for a needle and thread when she had the opportunity, still pondering over what exactly had maimed Vincent so terribly. Then again, Tifa reasoned as she smoothed the creases, he had just singlehandedly brought down the Omega Weapon, and Gaia only knew what else in the remains of the Shinra Building.

The silence was suddenly punctuated by a knock on the cabin door. Tifa jumped, nearly slipping as she dried her hands hastily on her shorts and went to see who else could possibly still be awake at this hour.

"Yuffie?"

The diminutive ninja stood before her in the hall, wearing her travelling cloak and looking haggard. Tifa opened the door a bit wider.

"Why on Gaia are you up so late?"

"Ugh…more like early!" Yuffie whined, rubbing her eyes. Tifa pressed a finger to her lips and cut her eyes in Cloud's direction. Yuffie lowered her voice a half-octave. "Reeve is sending me back to headquarters to take care of a few things, says it's urgent. I don't get why he couldn't at least wait until morning!"

"Reeve didn't even let you sleep?" Tifa asked, surprised.

"Only for a few hours. But I mean, the WRO will be busy cleaning up this Deepground mess, so it's not unexpected. As if we didn't already have enough to do!" She peered anxiously around the doorframe. "I wanted to see Vincent before I left. How is he?"

Tifa looked over her shoulder at Vincent's sleeping form, wondering how much she should tell the young ninja.

"He's been sleeping for a while. He's hurt badly but the medics drugged him so he could rest. They said the best thing for us to do right now is to wait and let him heal. Cloud and I have been watching over him."

"I wish I could stay instead of being sent to HQ…" Yuffie trailed off, scuffing the floor with the toe of her boot. For a moment she appeared solemn, and Tifa glimpsed the rare, mature side of her personality. "I was _hoping_ I could stay. I don't want to leave without knowing what – " she broke off again. "I was so afraid when I saw him falling that he…"

Yuffie gestured helplessly and then quickly ducked her head. Tifa suspected her young friend was fighting back tears beneath the hood of her cloak. She reached out to lay a hand gently on her arm.

"Yuffie…"

The ninja bounced out of reach.

"Well, I better get going! Don't want to piss off Reeve, he's already in such a grouchy mood. Tell Vincent he better get all his sleeping out of the way before I get back. I want a play-by-play of exactly how he kicked Omega's ass. Later!"

Then she was gone, and Tifa was left alone in the silence once again.

~*O*~

She woke abruptly from her restless slumber some time later – much later, she realized with a glance at the blue-grey dawn outside the cabin window, the hulking shadows of the Sector 7 ruins just visible in the darkness. Cloud was still sleeping in the chair across from her, leaning against the wall with his chin tucked within the folds of the blanket. She wondered why she had awoken so suddenly, but then she heard movement and a quiet sound not unlike a broken sob rise among the stillness from the other end of the room. Tifa immediately went to her friend's bedside, nervous apprehension blooming in her chest.

"Vincent?" she called softly. "Are you awake?"

The gunman provided no sign that he was aware of her presence. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his face and along the dip of his collarbone, mingling with the dirt and grime that darkened the crevices of his skin, a bead of perspiration trickling from his temple into the inky, tangled tresses of his hair. His chest rose and fell rapidly and his features were drawn, eyes moving from side to side beneath the thin, violet-tinged flesh of their lids. Every now and then, the long, slender fingers of his right hand twitched frantically along the bedsheet like a pale spider, as if he were searching desperately for something.

 _He's looking for his gun_ , Tifa realized as she frowned at the gunman's distress, concerned that he was in pain yet unsure how to help him in his unconscious state.

She tentatively shook him by the shoulder a few times and called his name again. When she did not receive any response, she rested her hand on his forehead, but rather than the burning fever she had expected, his skin was clammy and cool to the touch.

"It's okay, Vincent," she whispered, smoothing back his unkempt fringe. "It's only a dream…you're safe here…"

She doubted that Vincent even had the faintest clue she was there. But just as she was contemplating whether she was attempting to console the gunman or herself, his body relaxed and his breathing became deeper and more even, though it remained somewhat labored, as if he'd been running a great distance. She watched his pinched expression sadly for a while, thumbing some of the dirt from his cheek, when an idea crossed her mind.

Returning to the bathroom, she dug in the small linen closet for a clean facecloth, which she held under the warm stream of water from the sink faucet until it was saturated. She wrung it out until it was just damp and went back to Vincent's bedside, the small towel comforting like a hot mug of tea in her hands.

Gently, she folded the blankets down to the gunman's waist, exposing his naked torso like a marble sculpture in repose, the wide, thick bandage hiding the horrible wound. Thankfully, Tifa noted, the absence of crimson stains on the fabric confirmed that the stitches were holding well. Whatever nightmare had been disturbing his sleep seemed to have passed for the moment, his expression appearing almost serene. His body was still as he drew deep, slow breaths, his right hand finally relaxing, palm open.

The rubber tubing of the oxygen mask lay across his chest, and Tifa was struck by how fragile he looked. She realized that she had never seen Vincent anywhere near this vulnerable before.

She allowed herself a moment to admire the aesthetic beauty of his perfect androgyny. He was so slender, so lithe in ways that reminded Tifa of a woman, yet here and there were the sharp angles and chiseled lines characteristic of a man's body. Without his bandana, she could see clearly the parts of his face which usually remained hidden. His fair complexion, contrasted sharply against the black silk of his hair, the long, delicate curve of his neck, the arch of his narrow eyebrows, the long lashes resting like dark shadows above his high cheekbones – had she not known any better, she would have sworn he were a seraph lying there.

She noticed quite suddenly that her face felt very warm. Shaking away her thoughts, she perched on the edge of the bed and set about the task she had intended. Gently, she washed his face with the damp cloth, cleaning away the dirt and lingering sweat. She worked around the oxygen mask, careful not to disturb the apparatus which aided his breathing.

She avoided his left arm for as long as possible, scrubbing at the grit of battle that still remained on his broken body. Dry blood from the wound was smeared like rust across the flat muscles of his abdomen. It crumbled onto the bedsheets as she rubbed with the warm, damp cloth. As it fell away, however, something in the dim light drew her eye, and she leaned forward curiously, searching the bare expanse of flesh between his navel and the rough edge of the bandage.

There were scars, lots of them. Not the dark, raised scars of recent wounds, but flat, silver lines, almost invisible against the pallor of his skin. As she bent nearer, she could see they were very straight and precise – too straight and precise, she realized, to be battle scars.

Something dark curled in the pit of her stomach then, a deeply troubled feeling that made the hair on her arms prickle, a feeling similar to when she had first removed his gauntlet, which she did not want to explore. She could not name it, but as she slowly straightened up, she felt a sudden impulse to cover him again, to move away. Even as she did so, her unease did not subside. Her conscience recoiled as if she had intruded upon something extremely personal and private, although she was unwilling to guess what it might be.

Her hands trembled as she smoothed the blankets before returning, weak-kneed, to the washroom.

~*O*~

Cloud opened his eyes to the red-tinged sunrise beyond the narrow cabin window. His arm was sprawled across the table, completely numb from being used as a makeshift pillow. He hadn't been aware that he'd fallen asleep. Squinting against the light, he shifted slightly, too exhausted to move despite his uncomfortable position, and he felt the rough texture of the army blanket Tifa had borrowed from Cid's closet scrape against his shoulders. He wondered if she, too, had given up and gone to sleep in one of the guest cabins down the hall.

There was a quiet rustling sound to his right. He lifted his head, unsticking his cheek from the inside of his arm, only to see Tifa sitting on the edge of the bed, comb in hand, patiently untangling the knots from Vincent's hair.

"What are you doing?" he asked at length.

"What does it look like?" she replied, but her attempted humor was lost in her exhaustion and the anxiety, Cloud noticed, which had crept into her voice.

"Have you been awake all night?"

Tifa nodded wordlessly, working the comb carefully through a section of raven hair.

"Yes, for the most part," she said after a moment. "I fell asleep for a little while earlier…" she trailed off, too tired to continue.

Cloud fell silent once more and watched as Vincent's chest rose and fell steadily as she worked.

"Has he been awake at all?"

"No…not that I have seen."

Cloud abruptly sat up in his chair then, panic suddenly flooding his chest.

"Marlene – and Denzel – !"

Tifa held a finger to her lips.

"Barret called a little while after midnight. He's agreed to stay with them until one of us can return…" she trailed off again.

Cloud relaxed, relieved, slumping down in his chair.

Tifa put the comb aside. "I'm so tired…"

"You can go sleep," Cloud replied, but even as the words passed his lips, his eyelids dragged heavily, beckoning him to close them again. He hauled himself up, shuddering against the early morning chill.

"No, no, it's alright…" Tifa said, but her chin nodded toward her chest, hands falling limply to her lap.

"Tifa?"

She jerked awake, gazing up at him with dull, dark-rimmed eyes.

"Please, go and sleep. I can stay with Vincent –"

The creak of the door hinges interrupted him. They turned in unison toward the threshold, where Cait Sith bobbed on the soles of his little leather-clad feet, grinning apologetically at them.

"Oh – pardon me! Ah shouldae knocked first!" he clasped his hands in front of him. "Donnae worry, ah'll stay wi' Vince wael yoo kenn goo rest."

Cloud exchanged glances with Tifa. For a moment, she looked uncertain, but then she smiled gratefully at the robotic cat.

"Thank you, Cait Sith," she said as she unfolded herself from the edge of the bed. "Will you please let us know if he wakes?"

"Yes, or when the medics show up?" Cloud added. "A doctor called Sergei should come today."

"Donnae worry! Ah'll coom an' break doon th' door if ah must," he said as he clambered up next to Vincent's shoulder. "Goo an' rest. Ah'll take good care o' Vincent. He'll need yoo in tip-toop shape if yoo're plannin' too stay by his side all night, especially when he wakes!"

Cloud still had reservations about leaving his friend even for a few hours, but the fact that Vincent had survived the first night inspired a tiny flicker of hope in his chest. With one more glance at the gunman's unconscious form, he followed Tifa out of the room, pulling the door behind him.

Cait Sith leaned close to Vincent, and his expression fell sadly.

"Ahh, Vincent, yoo poor lad…"

He patted the gunman's shoulder gently.

~*O*~

Cloud collapsed, fully dressed, onto the bed in the guest cabin next door. His mind jumped restlessly from one trail of thought to another, unwilling to entertain any of the horrible scenarios which could greet him when next he woke. He did not want to think, either, about his friend flailing in agony, shouting Hojo's name, or what terror might have caused him to do so. The vision had disturbed him several times during the night. But even as his mind buzzed with worry and doubt, his head sunk into the soft pillow and his eyelids drooped, carrying him once again into a troubled sleep.

* * *

 **A/N -** I'm really not very familiar with Cait Sith's accent, so I tried to write it as well as I could. I've not read many fics with him in it, so I actually modeled the spelling of his speech from the dialogue of a character in a book who speaks Scots. Hopefully it is at least somewhat accurate.

Thanks again for reading!


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